


Pringly Crimbrulee

by viceroyvonmutini



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: F/F, I just wanted to try Holtzmann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:37:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceroyvonmutini/pseuds/viceroyvonmutini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Food and things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pringly Crimbrulee

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, this has been typed out on my phone in the basement of a library at 2:30am. 
> 
> Secondly, I just really wanted to write Holtzmann. That's literally the only reason I wrote this.

She's a snacker. Something about sitting for an extended period of time to consume vital acids and so forth seems like a waste of time. And painful. And she's worked out the exact proportional requirements for nutritional equilibrium when subsisting solely on a diet of refined sugars and carbs. Packaged. That kind of thing.

Chinese food is Abby's thing, not hers. Not that she minds it, but Abby likes to sit and eat and take her time: a designated portion of her day devoted to chow mein and wontons. It crosses her mind every so often that she could make Abby's soup with the perfect broth-ratio, but that's not really her thing. Not yet. She'll finger pick at a spring roll though, no qualms, crunching away at the length as she adjusts the flame of her blowtorch ready for the next bout of Extreme Welding. 

Convenience food. That's it. She loves food, she does; she'll devour it faster than anyone, but there's so much to do, and to get through, and once she mastered the whole "cooking" thing, there's no point. She lost interest, and Oreo snack-packs can be consumed on the move, and with one hand, and crunched.

Her favourite thing to make is creme brûlée. 

She's got it down. A system, as much as she's ever had a system. Even Patty respects the system, though she'll take the offer of a sumptuous deli sandwich any day of the week, squirrelling it away for later.

Erin does not respect the system. In fact, Erin comes in and looks at the system and then takes a permanent marker she _thinks_  is erasable and changes the x-squared to an x-cubed. And she doesn't get it at first, because Erin sits down to lunch. Erin uses a knife and fork. Erin picks up her pizza slice with dainty little hands and takes dainty little bites and paces herself in time with the casual conversation. Erin doesn't slurp at her drink. Erin doesn't even know the value of a collapsible spork. 

Erin dips her forearm into an almost-finished aluminium tube of Pringles and pulls a singular Pringle out by the tips of a finger and thumb, crunching away as they discuss the Proton gun kick-back. She talks about how kick-back is fun, about how she can't (doesn't want to) remove it, about how it's as instrinsic to her design as shotgun recoil to a shotgun; but her eyes follow the movement of Erin eating a singular Pringle from her tube of Pringles. 

One day, Erin brings her a salad. She looks at her, goggles hanging free underneath her chin, eyes far too wide as she studies Erin.

'Here.'

Erin walks off, and Holtz decides to ignore the salad. She doesn't notice if anyone else gets one.

(They don't.) 

After a week of salads, Holtz slides her wheely-chair towards Erin, bumping her slightly as she fails to stop in time.

'Hi.'

Erin shoots her a smile. She waits.

'What's up Holtz?'

'Oh nothing much. Proton packs are stable, the mulcher is rebuilt with-' a short laugh, '- _so_ much more mulching power-better specs with the added spectral emission sensor too - sensing absolutely nothing - but say _bye-bye_ to T-V resistance. The little suckers stand no chance against the mighty mulcher.  And I think I've managed to switch Alaska for Michigan. I've noticed the salads by the way - is Alaska better than Michigan?'

Erin's eyes sparkle a little, not even sure how it's possible to spatially displace a spectral being to Michegan _or_  Alaska. She doubts Holtz really knows either.

'Probably neither, Holtz.'

'Meh. Alaska-smashka.'

Holtz pushes herself away from Erin, swivelling all the while.

There's another salad on her desk the next day. Erin places it right on top of...a work in progress. Highly unstable. Probably. Might be fine.

'Eat it.'

Erin looms over her desk. Holtz fixes her with a wide eyed stare.

'What?'

'The salad. More B-12 than a Fruit Winder, I promise.'

'B-12 is found in fish. Eggs. Milk-'

'There's egg in there, and I added chilli sauce. You like it on your deli sandwich so I figured-'

'You made it?'

'Well Kevin didn't.'

'Huh.'

She stares at Erin. Erin looks back.

'You gonna eat it?'

She considers for a beat, before snatching at the salad and stashing it away, hidden with her Pringles and Oreos and Pop Tarts that she likes to eat cold. 

Erin considers this progress.

Erin doesn't see her eat it. It's a salad. Tastes like...salad. Salad salad. Grass and stuff, and egg. And chilli. But Erin made it, and why not eat it? She likes carrots a lot, and there are carrot shavings lacing the lettuce concoction.

'She's not going to eat healthy,' comments Abby, watching Erin watch Holtz (not Kevin) solder at a small silicon circuit. Holtz is jerking her shoulders to some private tune in a way that should, by all rights, make her work skewed and scwiff, but Erin knows it'll be perfectly aligned.

'She needs to eat something...green.'

Abby refrains from remarking that _she_  doesn't eat anything green, and Erin doesn't go making her salads. Hell, the most green Patty eats is a deli sandwich frozen lettuce leaf, and she doesn't get any homemade salads from Erin either. 

Erin picks up her daily prepped salad, and walks over to Holtz. Abby smiles lightly, trying to give the two a little...privacy.

'Hi.'

'My mentor always said a solder is like a centipede.'

'Right.'

Holtz looks at her. 'Long and leggy.'

'I don't...even know what that means.' 

Holtz gives her that smile, like she's not really meant to get it, but they're both scientists so it's not like she expects Erin to stop being confused by it either, but she thinks maybe Erin takes things a little too literally. All those numbers on paper can do that to a person, thinks Holtz. It makes sense that way at least. She thinks Erin should learn to solder.

'Segments.'

Erin looks mercifully enlightened at the clarification.

'Oh!'

Holtz thrusts out her solder gun as far as it will go, towards Erin.

'Solder?'

'No. No thanks. I'm just...here with a salad,' she replies brightly.

Holtz looks momentarily plussed, before reigning herself in to a suitable level of non-plussed.

'Hm.' 

She turns back to her work.

'I'll just...put it down here then.'

Erin doesn't notice the way Holtz watches her back as she walks away, ever so slightly dejected.

Holtz thinks of an equation.

She's in early the next morning: uncharacteristically so. Erin is already there.

'Oh hey Holtzmann. Party and Abby went to get gas for the hearse-'

'Ecto-I,' mumbles Holtz.

'-what brings you in so early?'

'Physical equations. By which I mean I wish I meant physics, with numbers and balanced sides and. Equations.'

'...equations? Is this a new-'

'I once made a gun for you. It wasn't for you, and it wasn't finished and I said you couldn't have it because the equations were unfinished. Unbalanced.'

'And you finished it?!'

'No. No no no but it's less unbalanced. You know how you all...you did...with...you balanced it.' 

'...I...balanced it. Right.' 

Erin thought Holtz might be trying to get at something, but wasn't sure what. 

'So...the equations are finished for it then?' Erin's head was tilted in confusion.

Holtz took a deep breath, pre-emptive of speech.

'No.'

Pause.

'I have a creme brûlée. For you.'

Erin completely failed to hide her surprise at the topic jump. She was lost. Completely. She thought Holtz might be a little lost too, though, and that made her think that it was all alright anyway.

Holtz's hand darted out from behind her back, swiftly placing a small creme brûlée on the desk in front of Erin. 

'It's yours. Like a salad.'

'Like a...'

Oh. 

 _Oh_.

'Holtz...'

Holtz was already on the other side of the room buried in wires and flaming torches, back firmly to Erin.

'You should keep the Swiss Army knife; the gun isn't ready and highly, _highly_  unstable.'

Erin smiled.

'I still have it, Holtz.'

She nodded. 'Probably best.'

'Can't really protect me from the ghost though,' pointed out Erin, softly.

Holtz coughed, or more like hacked out some CO2 in an effort to manually restart her lung function. 

'Right. Right.'

Erin laughed. 


End file.
